Harry Potter and the Perks of Time-Travel
by Kati33
Summary: Adult Harry returns to his 11-year old self with all his memories of the future, as well as a lot more intelligence, independence, cunningness and secrets than the poor canon Harry had. Year One. Grey!Harry, manipulative!Dumbledore, but not evil.
1. Chapter 1 Starting to go back

**Chapter 1. Starting to go back**

The idea started to form in an innocuous moment, not anything noticeable, or even anything memorable. Just an usual winter night with clear sky and shining stars.

In the muggle London two figures were lying on a fifteen-storied apartement house's roof and gazing upwards still. Around them were numerous snow-angels that showed their activity beforehand.

„It looks like you could almost touch the stars," commented the woman softly.

„Emphasis on the word _almost,_ " chuckled the man next to her.

„There is everything written there. The past, present and future."

„I know. Only we, humans, can't read it. Though maybe its better this way."

„Probably," the woman said dreamily, paused for a moment and went on, „Would be awfully boring to know that tomorrow there is going to be a frog jumping out of your morning coffee. I mean, this way it wouldn't be funny at all."

„True, true."

„But think what it would have been to have known the future back then. What if you had known that it's so much better to make snowangels on a rooftop, before you went to Hogwarts."

„We could have climbed on the castle's roof," mused the man, smiling faintly, „and done a lot of other things. I could even have been a top student in potions."

„Oh yes, Snape would have had Crackputs for that."

„Crackputs?"

„They infest person's hair, if said person is consuming too much pink Calming Draught."

„I thought that the Draught was blue in colour. But I suppose you could get it changed something pinkish if added some powdered moonstone, and then the pixie dust," he paused, frowning, „and then some caterpillars to stop the dust reacting with Camomille nectar, hmm…" he stopped, thinking of potions theory. He needed pen and paper for the calculations.

„It would be violet, not pink."

„Yes you are right, well, I guess, you could always add some muggle food colours."

„Exactly my idea."

„Yes I see what you mean, if Snape was adding _that_ to his potion, he would be totally over the edge."

„Hmm. It could be fun though. And you could enjoy Hogwarts once more. I mean that there are probably countless plants in the greenhouses, that you didn't explore before, and you never had time to write a thesis about the thestrals there."

„You got a point there."

There was a silence, both of them lost in memories.

„And all the dead people," she added softly after a while, voicing what they were actually most fervently thinking about.

„Yes, all them." The man whispered with a far away sadness. All the dead friends. If he only had known what was to come. Or thought before acting more. Or hadn't trusted Dumbledore so blindly and looked things up for himself.

„So, you'd like to try?" asked the woman, „To go back knowing whats to come?"

„Would you come with me?"

„Oh, you know, Harry Potter, I'd come to the moon with you. It's never boring around you."

„Yes, the reporters, Dark Lords and deadly creatures, and attempts to poison me. Hmm, not to mention the quidditch reps. And small garden snakes."

„You forgot the Invisible books that attacked you last night."

„Ah them too."

„Great."

„Lu, you didn't actually find an highly illegal ritual to send us back in time, did you?" Harry asked in a more amused than appaled tone. He had known Luna for a long time.

„I don't actually think that it's illegal." She said in her dreamy voice, but wasn't fooling Harry any.

„Simply because the Ministry doesn't know about it and so can't forbide it?" he asked flatly.

„Something along these lines," Luna giggled, „Though they have restricted all dark magic. And rituals. And meddling with time. And there is a chance the ritual is complitely imaginary and won't work at all. After all, the book I found it from, was positively infested with nargles."

„Probably. It doesn't happen to be in one of those diaries written by Bloody Nutcase Arthur?" Harry inquired varily. If there was an author to be vary of, it was Bloody Nutcase Arthur.

„It's actually Bounty Nustern Arthur Carmaichail. I think I mentioned it sometime before."

„And I think it still is Bloody Nutcase Arthur. I have read some of the books after all."

They didn't do any time-travel ritual, or didn't even consider it in earnest, just more like a joke, or better yet – a daydream. But the thought started in that night on that rooftop. And become a game between the two of them, occasionally making comments to each other of all the things that they could have done. And what would have happened, if for example Harry got sorted into Huffelpuff or pranked Fred and George, turned Petunia's hair green, went to lunch with Fudge after the third task, became friends with the basilisk, exposed Voldemort's head under Quirell's turban, sent Snape Christmas cards or collected all the horcruxes and glued the soul shards in them together. Luna was wondering if then they would have made another insane Lord Voldemort, or would he be the clever, dangerous and cunning boy Tom Riddle. Well, first they should have gotten a body for it. Or if it even was possible to put the soul shards back together without including the wrath himself. It would have been an interesting experiment. Also there were the burning questions of what else was in the Room of Hidden Things that had been all but destroyed. Because as Harry and Luna had figured, after the fire, the Room of Requirement didn't work well at all. It seemed that all the necessary preps, like dummies, books, fireplaces, vanishing cabinets and whatnot that morphed the Room of Requirement into the different amazing shapes, came actually from the Room of Hidden things. And all the lost or abandoned things in the entire castle found their way into that place, when no-one wondered any more where they were. So all the old school books forgotten to the dorms, all lost clothes, newspapers, even teddybears – they found their place in there, waiting for someone to pace three times in front of the wall on the seventh floor and wish for them, so that the Room could provide them.

Luna was also thinking of all the poor Nargles who loved stealing and Teddlybee Bumbags who used to live inside old magical artefacts. Because this was a Room where there was bound to be numerous colonies of both, and as every living being, they weren't immune to something like the fiendfire. Or like any dead being. Or rather, anything at all.

But as much as they talked about it, they weren't considering really going back.

Until Luna died. Unexpectantly and unbelievingly. In a stupid accident. And Harry all but lost it.

Hermione tried to console him, invited him to stay with her, Ron and their two little kids, Rose and Hugo, and George was there, knowing better than anyone what it felt like to lose someone so close, understanding and familiar. There also were Bill and Fleur with their family, but all them had their own lives and Harry ended up more alone than not. He did feel more as a fifth wheel in their lives, rather than truly included. And after he had broken up with Ginny, there had always been some strain between him and the Weasleys.

It was two years later, when Harry sorted through some boxes in the little apartement, where they had occasionally lived together with Luna. And found again the diaries of Bloody Nutcase Arthur. And leafing through them, he suddenly laughed, not merrily and happily, but bitterly and full of desperation. There were the rituals of time-travel, the little joke between the two of them, that he had all but forgotten already. Now he looked hungrily through them, thinking of Luna's fingers, as she must have stroked the pages, and her dreamy smile, that graced her face when she had found some rather amusing entry.

At twenty eight, Harry wasn't in any way the reckless Gryffindor hero, or the Bloody-Useless-Boy-Who-Lived, who had survived only on pure luck. No, he had been through war, destruction, the death of his friends, couple of years in auror department, in politics, and all the time – whatever he did – on newspaper's pages. Also he didn't think of Light and Dark in Black and White, Merlin, he himself wasn't even any more the exeptionally Light and stupidly naive wizard he used to be in his school years.

But it wouldn't hurt to look into the rituals. Or experiment with the higly illegal and dangerous ingredients needed for them, or do some research into all the runes that he didn't even recognise from the fading diary's pages. After all, Harry was totally capable of following the security lines. And it wasn't like he had something more intresting to do. Or anything at all actually.

 _Dear Mione,_

 _I've gone into a daydream. Or insane. Or just done somehing incredible stupid, and thrown myself into yet another of_ THOSE _situations._

 _Don't be too sad or angry at me, or mourn me, though I think I won't ever be back. You have Ron and Rose and Hugo, and the Weasleys, and your job. And all the books in the world that you haven't read yet. Or written yet. Just make the best of everything._

 _This is actually what I'm trying to do as well. Make the best of my time. But in somewhere else. In somewhen else. As someone else. Almost someone else. It definitely is going to be intresting. If nothing else._

 _And give my greetings everyone._

 _Harry_

 _PS! Burn the PPS!_

 _PPS! Did a time-travel ritual. There, I've said it now._

It had taken months to get the rituals sorted out. And the potion ingredients that were required for the painting of the runestones. But there he stood – naked, inside an old stone circle, near Luna's childhood home. He also was surrounded by the runestones he had been making and carving and immersing in potions. The runes on them were gloving purple – being filled with his blood and his magic. There were long chants in latin to be sang, and an immeasurable amount of power to be thrown around. Also there was some time-sand to be eaten and burned inside his magic. And meditating, going into himself, into his mind, into his magic, diving into so deep, that anything around him become of little interest, or didn't exist any more at all for him.

Harry knew everything he had to do, now he just had to do it and see if it worked or not. He was rather curious.

So he did the ritual. And afterwards blacked out.

There was dark and Harry was lying on some substance. Not solid, but not anything else as well. He stood up, squinting his eyes in the dim light around him, but nothing else appeared. It looked like he was in the middle of nothingness. Well, there was some darkness as well. And some odd shadows.

„Now what?" he muttered. The place in some strange reason reminded him of the King's Gross station where he had been thrown after being killed by Tom and had his little chat with Dumbledore.

„Now you are dead," someone answered in a silky whispery tone, then added rather crossly, „or should be."

„Really? Did I mess the ritual up?" he inquired, thinking that if he ideed was dead, the situation itself was interesting enough. But as he looked around, there was no-one talking to him. The voice sounded like it came from everywhere around him at once.

„Oh no, but something did get messed up," it commented.

„What then?"

„Those three brothers, and their arrogance. The deal."

„The three brothers?" Harry asked. The conversation was getting weirder and weirder.

„Yes, mere mortals, thinking that they can fool me."

„Want to elaborate?"

„And now I have to deal with situations like that. You should be dead," the voice went on, not explaining anything.

„So I'm not dead?"

„You could be."

„But I'm not?"

„You would be."

„Why I'm not then?" He asked, exasperated.

„You mastered the three." The three what? But then it clicked.

„The hallows?"

„Congratiolations. Now I have to listen what you wanted to do. Now I have to talk to you," the voice was still mostly creepy and mostly emotionless, but Harry was sure that he heard some annoyance as well.

„You are the Death?" He asked, for some reason not feeling fearful.

„I can be."

„Okay, so about the ritual. Will it work?" He wanted to know, really, getting a stright answer from the-maybe-Death, was like talking to centaurs.

„You want it to work I gather. And it would solve my problem," mused the voice after a slight pause.

„What problem?"

„You should be dead." Ah not that again.

„Yes, we already covered that," ha said, but then paused, „Why though?" he wanted to know.

„Meddling with time is not for mortals. Any other would have died."

„I have always been a little odd in that way." Starting with surviving the killing curse and then going on and on with all the other near-death experiences, Harry was used to living through most unexpected situations.

„Hmm, yes, haven't you?" was the unhelping answer he got as the shadows started to grow, and his surroundings going darker and darker. And then Harry was out of it again.


	2. Chapter 2 When in the past?

**Chapter 2. When in the past?**

Harry woke up disoriented, cold and uncomfortable. He was laying on a floor in a strange position and the muscles on his hand all gone numb. Grumbling to himself he massaged his useless limp hand to get some life back into it and tryed to look around. To his dismay however everything looked so blurry and unfocused and for a moment Harry thought that he had a concussion or something. It took however some moments when it hit him: his glasses! He was certainly back in time and he hadn't yet had his eyes fixed. So it had worked, the ritual had actually worked. Unbelievable.

He hadn't been sure exactly how many years he could go back. Bloody Nutcase Arthur's diaries gave the instructions for a five year period: You could pick to go back five to ten years, ten to fifteen, fifteen to twenty, and so on. It was also hinted, that magic herself would choose the best moment you land in, probably the most life-changing event in this period of time. You also could go back only to the years you were already born, otherwise you'd just die. But as Harry had found out from his little chat with Death, anyone would die anyways, it was just his luck that he happened to be the Master of Death and had always had some uncertain ability to live through impossible situations.

BANG!

Harry started out of his musings and finally located his glasses near himself on the floor. He was desperately trying to remember when he had been sleeping on a cold floor in the previous timeline. He could have counted for his Hogwarts bed, his small bedroom, even the cupbard under the stairs or a bed in the Burrow, but this place? Then with the bang and some child muttering: „Where's the cannon?" Harry finally got it. The hut before his first year. And Hagrid rummaging through the door. And the child on the sofa was no-one else than his cousin Dudley. Only a lot smaller and certainly a lot stupider than the one that Harry remembered from his future. He hadn't been any great pals with Dudley, but Harry was in speaking terms with him, his wife Cassandra and their little girl Mary-Louise. Dudley even occasionally visited the magical world with Harry to buy bagfuls of sweets from Honeydukes.

BANG! There was it again, and Harry got himself into a sitting position. As he hadn't known when he would land, his plan had been to just go with the flow and try not to interrupt the time-line too much, before he had had time to sit down and think through everything that could come from changing something. And only then start changing things.

But now he was before his first year. This counted like before _everything_ for Harry. He could do it all differently. And no-one would think his change of behavior strange, as no-one didn't even know him yet. At least anyone from his real world.

„Who is there?" demanded uncle Vernon, who had barged into the room with aunt Petunia. They looked much younger, but Vernon still supported the tell-tale colour of red on his face. Harry had never gotten on with the two of them, but had came to understand the bitterness and fear a little better. He still didn't like the pair, but didn't hate them with any real venom either. During the years his childhood memories had long lost their edge and most of his adult life Harry had just refrained of dwelling on them or their lives. „I warn you – I'm armed!" Vernon went on, holding a rifle pointed to the door. Harry idly wandered where on Earth he had gotten the weapon, but then there was –

SMASH!

And the door fell off the hinges and crashed onto the floor.

Harry had to admit that Hagrid looked rather dangerous with his wild black beard and hair, not to mention his way of entering, but knowing what a gentle heart was inside, he really couldn't feel anything else than amusement, as Petunia shrieked and Dudley scurried off to hide behind his parents. Their faces were hilarious.

„Sorry 'bout that," Hagrid boomed, picked up the door and set it back, diminishing the sound of raging storm outside a little. He all but ignored the terrified Dursley's, turned to Harry and smiled, „And 'eres 'Arry," he declared beming to him. Harry tentatively smiled back. Hagrid had been a real friend all through his years in the wizarding world.

„Las' time I saw yer, you was only a baby," he went on, adding also the well known fact that he looked like his dad with his mother's eyes.

Meanwhile, uncle Vernon had pulled himself together and yelled: „I demand that you leave, sir," sneering the word _sir_ in a very poor imitation of Snape's usual expression, „You are breaking and entering."

„Shut up Dursley, yer great prune," Hagrid bellowed and made a spretsel out of his uncle's rifle, causing him to make a small squacking noise. Harry smirked.

„Anyways, 'Arry," Hagrid turned back to him, like he hadn't done anything mentionable at all, „Happy Birthday!" And Harry was once again given the chocolate cake with green words on it.

„Thank you," he mumbled with a shocked look, he had totally forgotten that it was his birthday. „Thank you, H…" he said a little louder, almost calling him Hagrid, but figured then that he couldn't have known the man's name yet, „Ee, sorry, sir, but who are you?" he asked quickly.

„True, I haven't introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, but everybody calls me just Hagrid. Keeper of the Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. Of course you'll already know everything about Hogwarts," he paused, then asked: „so, what 'bout some tea then?" And eyed the grate with distaste. This time Harry leaned forward to see Hagrid point his pink umbrella to the miserable fireplace, and mutter: „ _incendio._ " Hagrid caught his eye and Harry grinned back.

He wanted to tell that yes, of course he knew everything about Hogwarts, and watch his relative's faces, but opted not to, it would be too much explaining to do. „Ee, no.." he stuttered and Hagrid went on ranting about him not knowing, then went on about his parents.

„Killed? I thought they died in car crash," Harry asked innocently when he remembered that he wasn't to know that either yet. Merlin how many things there were that he wasn't supposed to know. Hagrid was indignant like the last time, ranting about , „Lily and James Potter died in car crash? That's outrage! Scandal!"

Then he was told that he was a wizard over Dursleys protests and finally given his Hogwarts letter.

Mr. H. Potter

The Floor

Hut-On-The-Rock

The Sea

Harry smiled at the address, only wizards would write something like that, and for the second time in his life, opened his first-year Hogwarts letter. He felt the familiar magic of Hogwarts wash over him, telling the castle, that the recipient had gotten their letter. Harry hadn't felt that the first time, but maybe he had been on too high emotional roller-coaster to realise, or just wasn't so sensitive in picking up all the magic around him. Anyways, he needed to check the first opportunity he got, how much magical power he had, and if he had managed to travel back with all his adult abilities intact.

Harry read his letter smiling a little, Hagrid at the same time was grilling the sausages and humming to himself. Both Harry's and Dudley's stomacks grumbled.

„Don't eat anything he gives you, Dudley!" warned uncle Vernon, making Hagrid to chuckle darkly and announce: „Don't worry, your great puddin' of a son don't need fattening anymore," and gave the first sausages to Harry, who had just realised how terribly hungry he was.

„That's delicious," he exclaimed to Hagrid, who beamed back. Harry went over his letter again, chewing on the hot sausage at the same time, „Hmm, Hagrid?" „Hmm?" „They say that they are waiting my owl."

Hagrid clapped himself to the forehead with a force that would have knocked down a dragon: „Gallopin' Gorgons, I totally forgot," and then he proceded to take out parchment, quill and a living owl from his pockets and pen a reply for Dumbledore:

 _Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

 _Given Harry his letter._

 _Taking him to buy his things tomorrow._

 _Weather's horrible. Hope you're well._

 _Hagrid_

Then it envolved on mostly like Harry remembered, Hagrid threw the poor owl out to the storm, and Vernon bellowed that Harry won't go to school, and Petunia screeched that her sister was a freak. Harry just shut them out with years of practice. He came back to himself, when Vernon bellowed:

„I won't pay for some crackpot old fool teaching him magic tricks!" And then Harry remembered what had happened the last time. You never could say anything bad about Dumbledore in front of Hagrid. Even years after the old headmaster died and someone brought up anything negative from that stupid Skeeter's book about the Dumbledore, Hagrid was sure to need calming down.

„Never," he thundered, shaking with indignation, „insult Albus Dumbledore in front of me!" he was pointing the umbrella to Vernon, who watched it with incredulity. Then Hagrid moved towards Dudley, who was eating Harry's cake, and was just about to turn him into a pig, when Harry intervened, mostly without thinking,

„No! Don't!" he yelled and stormed to grab the umbrella. The spell however was already leaving it, but instead of hitting Dudley, it missed by few centimeters, hitting the wall with an audile punch and making Dudley scream like a girl.

„Don't curse him, please," Harry went on, making his voice awfraid and quivering, like a shaken up muggle boy who just thought that his family was attacked. Hagrid looked from Dudley's retrieving back, who was running to the other room, to Harry, then to the wall, where the spell had hit it, and then back at Harry.

„Sorry, lost me temper," he muttered, „wanted to turn him into a pig," he went on quietly, but Hagrid had never learnt the art of whispering, so the Dursleys heard every word. Petunia shrieked like Dudley before, and went to see if her Diddikins was alright, Vernon just stared at them, but decided to retreat as well.

Hagrid sat down to the sofa that creacked ominously beneath him and Harry resumed eating the sausages and asking Hagrid all sorts of questions. He didn't remember what he had asked the other time, but after some general enqueries about the wizarding world, he switched to ask if there were any real dragons, to which Hagrid beamed and launched into his favorite topic. Harry asked about various magical creatures well into the night, mainly because he knew that Hagrid loved talking about all the animals, and he didn't really mind listening, sitting next to the warm fire, drinking tea (Hagrid had cups and teapot in one of his pockets as well) and as tradition required, politely declining the rock cakes, that Hagrid also carried around in his pockets.

It was rather nice and cozy.


	3. Chapter 3 Visits to the Alleys

**Chapter 3. Visits to the Alleys**

Harry woke up to a tickling feeling. He sat up, making Hagrid's big cloak fall off him and saw what had woken him. There were mice in one of the pockets. Smiling and sighing exasperatedly he took in his surroundings.

He was in the past. He was eleven again. That was a really bizarre thought. Hagrid was snoring on the poor sofa and the Dursleys were nowhere to be seen. Good, Harry had a little time before all the entertainment started. He laid back down, closed his eyes and went through the familiar occlumency techniques, he really had to check how much of his adult magic he had taken with him.

He dived into his mindscape, glad to note that his occlumency was working as well as it had the day before, when he was twenty eight, and groped around to touch his magic. He had a lot of it. But still, it was different than before. Also it was a lot lighter, not the grey he was used to, but almost totally light. Really, had his magic really been so light to start with? It wasn't possible, he hadn't delved into darker arts much later than seventeen, and by that time his magic had been grey. He looked deeper and deeper. And then he found it.

His magic had been separated, there was the darkness in him, but it wasn't mingled with his aura making it gray, no, it was whirling around one spot in the middle of his magical core. He went on and touched it. Yes it was his magic, he pulled a little away and looked facinated as it slowly made his way back to whirling around that particular spot. He investigated more. After all it was inside his magical core, he really should understand what was wrong with his magic.

And that he got it. He knew the feel of the magic that was in the middle. It was familiar and dark and dangerous. The horcrux. He was still the horcrux.

And then he understood suddenly how he had been able to block either his dark or his light magic in his aura, changing his magical signature and the darkness or lightness that he was projecting. Usually wizards magic was all the same colour, in the same consistency and no-one cold normally change their aura. Except Harry, who after finally learning occlumency, had discovered that he could put walls around certain parts of his magic and so have control of what kind of aura he was projecting.

Now he understood why his magic was able to separate like that. The horcrux was like a magnet to the darker parts of his aura, and by the time Harry had reached seventeen, his grey magic had been separated into the darkest and into the lightest it could go. It was used to being like that. So Harry could manipulate with it later as well.

And he also got his suspicions confirmed of why he suddenly was so much stronger after defeating Voldemort. Hermione had thought that a large part of his magic had been subconciously used in blocking away the horcrux, so, after getting rid of it, he suddenly had much more free magic than he was used to. And on top of that he had reached majority and gone through his magical maturation. So thats why he just blew up everything around him, when casting even the simplest spell, and overpowered everything. And that was why after three years of hating even the word occlumency, he had actually first time in his life tried to learn it. And then legilimency, and all the other mind arts that he found out about. After all, it helped to get a control over his magic. Over his mind and over his emotions. Also he didn't cause explosions every time when his emotions got the better of him.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Something was knocking. Harry carefully brought himself back to present, noting that he ideed had his immense raw power from the future as well as the power of a child he was supposed to be. Though most of the child's power was keeping up the wards around the horcrux. So in conclusion he had even more magic. Well, he just used a part of it to create some analogy to occlumency walls around his magical core, so as to hide most of it, and let himself woke up again.

There was an owl with a Daily Prohvet knocking on the window. Harry let him in, woke Hagrid and paid to the bird after waiting for the explanation of how much each kind of coins were worth. Then he enjoyed some cold sausages for the breakfast and went with Hagrid to the boat.

„Ee, Hagrid, how are the Dursleys going to get back?" he asked.

„Uh?"

„We took their boat."

„Didn't think of the muggles, hmm, well, I gess I could send the boat back," he muttered and asked, „but ee, 'bout rowing us back, you, well, if I were to – er – speed things up a bit. Would yer mind not mentioning it at Hogwarts?" Hagrid was eyeing Harry nervously, probably vary of doing magic, remembering Harry's reaction to turning Dudley into a pig, but Harry beamed back at him, and promised not to mention anything. He knew very well how much Hagrid wanted to do magic. So they let the boat row itself, Hagrid leafed through the Prohvet, and Harry went on to ask all the questions he could think of. He wanted to get as much information as he could, so if he accidentally said something he wasn't supposed to know yet, then Hagrid would just think that he told Harry and not make any big deal out of it.

This time around Harry enjoyed the trip through muggle London more, smirking at the faces of the muggles, whose eyes were bulgging out of their heads gaping at the half-giant.

„Hagrid, didn't you say that I was famous?" he asked tentatively when they were nearing the Leacky Cauldron.

„Oh, yes, thumpin' famous, everyone gonna be so happy to see you."

„So all the wizards are going to look at me and talk to me and ee, shake my hand, and…" he asked, making his voice terrified.

„Oh yes, Harry, you alright?" Hagrid asked, finally catching up onto his act.

„I ee just don't like crowds, could we, eh, not draw attention to me? And ee not to mention my name, then maybe they don't know who I am? Or, hide my scar somehow? Just so I can get used to wizarding world you know, before anyone starts asking me questions and acting all weird?" He really didn't want to be bombarded with handshakes and gaping crowds.

„Of course, if thats what you feel, didn't think of that meself at all," Hagrid said, falling to his act. But after all, Harry had had lot of time to perfect his acting skills and not showing his true emotions being in the centre of attention of everywhere he went. Didn't matter if the wizarding world was currently idolizing him, mocking him, or laughing at him, still Harry had always been bombarded by reporters, general public, house elves and both hidden and unhidden cameras.

„Here, lets just get you a hat or something, should keep the scar 'idden, no problem," Hagrid suggested and they stopped next to a little tourist's kiosk, Hagrid gave Harry some muggle money, cause he didn't understand it at all, and Harry was happy to hide both his Potter hair and the infamous scar beneath his new cap. Then they went to the Leacky Cauldron.

„Hagrid, the usual?" asked Tom the bartender jovially. Some patrons gazed to Hagrids direction, but as everyone knew him, they just turned back to their own business.

„No, not today, Tom, just passing through, just passing through," he muttered and steered Harry to the little courtyard. And then they were on the Alley.

Harry didn't have to fake his wonder and awe, as the Alley was so different from the future. It still supported the look of magical secret passageway with all the hustle and bustle and the little cute shops. In the future it had mostly been destroyed, then rebuild of course, but it was never the same magical place like Harry remembered it to be.

„Wow," he said, amazed, looking everywhere at once. Hagrid beamed.

„First to Gringotts, the Wizarding Bank, safest place to keep yer gold." The crowd easily parted for Hagrid, due to his size and Harry just had to jog after him, and not curse aloud for his small body.

The goblin bowed them in and Harry not even thinking that it was something strange, bowed back. The same to the next two goblins who guarded the next pair of doors. After the fiasko of the war, Harry had been called to the bank to discuss all the damage he had brought upon Gringotts, but to his amazement the goblins didn't demand any payment from Harry, just a magical wow from all three of the Golden Trio not to ever break into Goblin establishments again, nor give any ideas or instructions to break in to anyone outside from Gringotts goblins. And then he had been included in goblin's security conferences to give them as many ideas as he could come up with, how to break in, so that they could take precautions against them. He also was made to learn more about goblin's culture and what they considered respectful or rude.

They didn't say that goblins would side with The Chosen One, the Defeater of Voldemort or whatnot, but they made Harry the friend of the goblin nation, as after the war, Harry was pretty much adored and his allegience was good to the bank's public image.

Now however Harry had to play the part of a muggle-raised child, he could be respectful, bow to the guards, but not say anything suspicious.

„Greetings," grumbled Hagrid, „We are here to take money from Harry Potter's vault," he whispered Harry's name, looking surrepticiously around and Harry had to refrine from rolling his eyes, Hagrid couldn't be surrepticious if his life depended on it. „And then I have this letter from Dumbledore, concerning You-know-what in the vault number 713," again Hagrid whispered and looked around. As if t omake sure that if anyone hadn't caught the first time that he had something to hide, they would understand it now.

„Very well," answered the goblin curtly, looking through the letter and demanding Harry's key. Hagrid to the displeasure of goblin, emptied half his pockets onto the teller's table, before found „the little devil," as he called the key.

And off they went to both of the vaults, retrieved some money for Harry (and as Hagrid was rather shaky after the cart-ride, Harry suggested him sit down outside his vault, so that he could take some five times as much money as the half-giant had told him to), as well as retrieved the Philosopher's stone. At the moment the vault 713 was opened, Harry could feel the stone's magic, pulsing and whirling around it, and he thought with alarm that Hagrid planned to go shopping with that thing in his pocket. Damn him, everyone could feel it from ten meters away. What was Dumbledore playing at? Did he really want it stolen? Or was it part of the plan of drawing Voldemort's attention to the fact that the stone was in the hands of Hagrid (means in the hands of Dumbledore), and so getting the wraith to invade the castle? After the war and thinking over all the Golden Trio's adventures, Harry had often wondered how much Dumbledore actually knew, or better yet – planned for them. And if there was anything at all they had actually kept secret from the old coot.

Just like the last time, Hagrid's face was green and he pleaded to go to the Leacky Cauldron for a pick-me-up, asking Harry if he minded to go alone to Madame Malkins. Of course Harry didn't mind.

„Hogwarts dear?" asked the matron, „just stand onto the stool, another young man is just being measured." And there Harry was, next to Draco Malfoy once more. He had totally forgotten that they met with Malfoy even before school. Harry actually really didn't hate Draco any more, true, he was a prat, but both had somewhat grown up through the war. They even had worked together in the Ministry when Harry had been an auror, but they were never friends per say.

„Hello," said Draco in a bored tone, „Hogwarts too?"

„Yup," Harry answered, happily.

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," he went on, "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

„You could let someone shrink it down and hide it in your trunk," Harry suggested absentmindedly, „or let your owl deliver it inside a letter later, I'm sure that they can't check your personal correspondance. Or just find some blackmail material on a older student, and bully them bringing your broom as their own."

Draco just stared at him, „so you have your own broom?" he asked, now much more intrested in Harry.

„Not at the moment," he smiled, „later maybe."

„Play Quidditch at all?"

„Not now, but I'm looking forwar to it in Hogwarts," he answered.

„Yes, me too, I think it's totally unfair that first years aren't allowed to the house teams," he said, now almost whining. Damn, Harry had forgotten that annoying quality of younger Draco's voice.

„Maybe you could impress your Head of House so much with your skills that they'll make an exeption for you, you never know," he suggested mildly, thinking back to his first Quidditch lesson with irony.

„Are you mocking me?" Draco asked, suspiciously.

„No," Harry chuckled, „but I guess you have to be in Gryffindor for that to work, they are after all reckless and total Quidditch obsessers," and you probably have to be The-Boy-Who-Lived, Harry added silently. And the son of James Potter, one of McGonagall's favorites.

„Gryffindor?" Draco asked horrified, „I think I would better leave rather that be _there_!"

Harry only smirked at him.

„I'm going to be in Slytherin," Draco went on, sounding like he wanted to convince himself as much as Harry, that he simply couldn't be put anywhere else, „my whole family has been there."

„Good luck then!" Harry chipped and jumped off the stool, as madam Malkin had just said: „It's all done with you now, dear."

„Wait, what's your name?" yelled Draco after him. Harry turned back and smirked some more, „It's a secret," he said, paid for his robes and headed out. He was in an exeptionally good mood, though still remembered to ask Hagrid to tell him all about Quidditch, and the Hogwarts Houses, when he found the half-giant waiting for him.

And to Harry's suprise he got a rather worrying lecture of the goodness of Gryffindor and evilness of Slytherin. Hagrid barely mentioned Huffelpuff and Ravenclaw with two words. And now that Harry knew how Hagrid himself had been in Huffelpuff, he found this blatant favortism of Gryffindor screaming: „Dumbledore's manipulations" all over it. Also he was wondering of how much he had been manipulated into Gryffindor the first time around. Dumbledore had said that our decisions make us who we are, and as much as Harry agreed to that statement, it was with two sides and deceptive like all Dumbledore's sayings. Because didn't all our decisions actually base on our life experiences so far? On preconcived notions, or rumors, or just our own personality? So did the decisions make us who we are or did who we were make us make the decisions we made? And the answer was the same as: what was first, the fire or the phoenix?

Next stop was trunk shop, and Harry was pleased to note that the whole shop was packed with different trunks and bags so full that the aisles between them weren't meant for too corpulent shoppers. He slipped in, Hagrid having already difficulties following him. So Harry made it a little more difficult, sending couple of wandless levitation charms to the trunks that Hagrid squeezed past, making them come crashing down onto him.

„Sorry," Hagrid mumbled and turned around to see the damage, but with that movement knocked over yet another trunk, totally accidentally.

„Sir!" admonished the shopkeeper angrily and started to put the trunks back onto the shelves, Hagrid kept on and on apologising.

Harry aimed another spell, when Hagrid moved, making another cascade of falling bags. Then after the noise had died down, suggested slightly nervously: „Hagrid, maybe you could wait outside, or look around the other shops, I can get my trunk myself."

„Yer sure?" asked Hagrid unsurely.

„Yes, I'll manage, don't worry."

„Well, if ye're sure, I'll wait outside then," he consented and Harry approached the irritated manager, who had managed to put all the merchandise back into their place, and was muttering to himself.

„School trunk to you, boy?" he sneered at Harry.

„Ravenclaw-standard trunk," Harry said. His Hermione had firstly came into trunk-shop carrying all her books, so she had been talked into buying a Ravenclaw trunk, which contained the usual compartment, and one additional one with bookcases. And this time around Harry really was a lot more bookish than during his previous first year.

„Its five galleons extra."

„Thats okay, and I need a secret compartment added to the library section."

„You sure you can pay for it, boy?" the manager sneered yet more, but Harry had been sneered down by experts, and the man didn't even get close to Snape's everyday Harry-expression.

„Yes," he answered coldly, looking into the man's eyes without being anywhere near intimidated, „A secret compartment that opens with password, is keyed in with my magical signature, has anti-breaking and all your notice-me-not - and secrecy charms that you can provide."

„How big?" The man asked, still looking at Harry with contempt.

„The same size as the usual compartment," he answered calmly. Harry didn't need too much room, but he fully intended to buy some rather alarmingly darker books, and write down all the important events from the future that he should be aware of.

„It will be another ten galleons, plus five for the protections. All together then twenty five galleons."

„Yes?" Harry asked with a sneer of his own. According to the calculations, the most basic trunk was then only five galleons.

„You can pay me half the price now, and come back in an hour," he said still condencendingly. Harry didn't let it faze him, counted out the galleons, got a check in return and went out of the shop.

„'Arry, where's your trunk then?"

„They said to come back in an hour, right now they don't have the usual school trunks, only some really fancy ones, the manager showed me a trunk that had an entire room inside it, with a fireplace and all," Harry went on, purposefully sounding awed and babbling, although he hadn't been shown anything like that „but he said that they are just waiting for a new delivery of usual school trunks and to come back an hour later."

„Well, alright then, we can get your potion supplies and cauldron and stuff then." Harry smiled and agreed, with all his other stuff, he could just buy everything basic with Hagrid now, and come back later to get more interesting tibits. With his trunk however, well, he hadn't wanted to buy the basic one right now and then get another one afterwards.

They got the potion supplies, Harry's cauldron , scales and telescope, then Harry slipped into the trunk-shop to retrieve his special order and then spent a while in Fluorish and Blotts. They had just emerged from it, and Hagrid was just telling Harry, that there was only his wand left, when Harry stopped dead in his traks, horrified expression on his face.

„'Arry, you alright?" Hagrid asked him.

„Yes, yes, I'm alright," he pulled himself together, crashing occlumency down around his sudden emotions and managing a weak smile, „sorry, just thought I saw someone I know. From muggle town you know. But was wrong though," he invented quickly. It wasn't a familiar muggle he had seen, neither was it human at all. It was an owl, _his_ Hedwig.

His dear dead Hedwig. Sitting on the shoulder of an unknown boy, who had just walked out of the owl emporium and was now gushing at her and petting her. Harrys mind raced, what had he already done that Hedwig got bought earlier? He couldn't have changed the timeline so much already, could he?

But then he thought about getting the trunk and spending more time in the bookshop, even talking with Draco longer. And Harry with Hagrid had probably made their way into the Alley later than last time, as they had waited quite long in muggle underground for the next train that Harry hadn't remembered doing the last time. Probably they had taken some extra minutes of setting off from the hut, and missed the previous train.

And now someone else had brought Hedwig. Harry had hoped to buy her this time around as well and seeing his dead familiar in the hands of another was a little sad. But when he thought rationally, this wasn't his Hedwig, she maybe wouldn't even bond with him this time around. And Harry would be sad every time he saw her. Still, the irrational part of his mind felt a little let down and sad.

„So where do I get my wand then?"

„Ollivanders, best wandmaker there is," and Hagrid indicated the little shabby shop. „And I still don't have a birthday present for you…"

„No you don't have to."

„Nonsense, its not everyday yer turn eleven. I know, I'll get yer an animal. Not a toad, they went out of fashion decades ago, and not a cat, I'm allergic to them. I know, I'll get you an owl, they are dead useful, carry yer's mail and all."

Harry still looked a little uncertain, having just seen his owl, who really was dead useful as well as his first friend ever, being walked out the shop, but in the end smiled slightly at the giant and was prompted to go and get his wand.

So to Ollivanders Harry went. The bell in the dusty shop chimed quietly, but was heard well in total silence. Harry felt some strange wards on the door, as he stepped through, but couldn't really place them.

„Mr. Potter," came the raspy voice, and Harry barely managed not to jump, regardless of knowing that Ollivander would put on his creepy act, „I was wondering when I'll see you."

„Hello, sir," Harry quietly answered, meeting the ethreal unblinking eyes that seemed to know more than possible. But Ollivander didn't make any strange comment of Harry being from the future or something similar, that he had somewhat feared would happen. The old man just went on with the same speech about his parent's wands as before and then started to give Harry wand after wand for trying.

And on it went. First time Harry had been scared and curious, this time however it become boring rather quickly. He was a little apprehensive as to if his old wand would choose him again, and so felt an immense relief when Ollivander muttered: „Unusual combination, holly and phoenix feather, but why not?" and gave Harry back his wand.

The warmth soured up from the wand into his arm and he could practically hear it singing to him. Harry smiled widely and waved it, producing silver sparks from its end.

„Curious," muttered Ollivander like last time, „curious indeed."

But Harry wasn't intrested of his wand being the brother of Voldemort's, he had suddenly realised something else altogether, „Does the colour of sparks mean anything?" he asked. Harry was sure that the last time there had been red and gold sparks. He had even discussed it with Hermione, if they could have been somehow connected with him being sorted into Gryffindor.

„Everything has a meaning," came the mysterious answer, „although sometimes it happens to be well and truly hidden," and with those words he took Harry's new wand, put it back into a box, muttered once again, „curious," and asked seven galleons.

He escaped the shop with a resolve to look into some wandlore books. The colourchange really was _curious._

„Happy birthday, Harry!" exclaimed Hagrid the moment he came out from the shop, „got your wand alright?"

And he was holding out an owl to Harry. It was light brown with black and white dots on its plumage, and down its back. It was also smaller than Hedwig had been, but still with big yellow eyes that seemed to look Harry up and down. Cautiously Harry neared his hand to it's cage, and when the owl didn't attack or even back away, he petted it, smiling faintly.

„You are beautiful," he murmured to him and then thanked Hagrid profusedly. The groundkeeper didn't know anything about Hedwig, and it really was very sweet of Hagrid to buy him an owl at all. Harry pushed his conflicting thoughts behind his occlumency, showing only gratitude and sweet smile.

Some time later, after eating lunch and traveling by muggle bus, Harry found himself free of Hagrid and pulling his school trunk towards the oh-so-familiar house of Privet Drive.

It was eery and unsettling, seeing every garden sprout the same precise and trimmer look, every car shining more than the neighbour's, and every house looking the same as the next. It was so damn dull and uninspiring, but Harry was surprised to note that he didn't really despise the place at all. Probably his hate had diminished during all those passing years quite a lot.

The Dursleys sent him only dirty looks, but didn't even say anything when he got into the house and sneaked all his things upstairs. Mentally cursing his eleven year old scrawny body when he slumped exhausted onto his little narrow bed, having dragged both the trunk and his still unnamed owl's cage up. He had told the owl himself to fly to his aunt's and uncle's house and was pleasantly suprised to see him sitting on a nearby three, outside his window.

„Hey, come here," he whispered, and having opened the window, the owl soared into his room. Harry gave him some water and owl treats, then took one of his new Hogwarts robes out, glad that he hadn't been sorted yet and therefore didn't have his customary Gryffindor coat of arms on it, only plain black robe, not noticeable at all. The same went for his outer cloak – still new and totally black. Then he tiptoed downstairs, stole a pot of glue from Vernon's worktools and then locked himself into the upstairs bathroom.

First there was Petunia's make-up and with various consealing creams, he managed to get his scar disappear for casual observer, it was still there, but not easily spotted. Then some moussee into his untamable hair making it stay flat and obediently tame. Harry had gotten very good at all kinds of glamours after the war – both spells, self-transfigurations and potions that could be used for changing one's appearance. Sometimes he needed to appear like the Chosen One, Defeater of Voldemort, but there were many times when he really didn't fancy standing out. They had even created different names for their different appearances with Luna, that they used to adress each other in public.

But charms could be dispelled, potions could wear off, and transfigurations were difficult and dangerous. So he had added muggle means as well – most wizards weren't expecting contact lenses in different colours, or cremes to hide his scar.

But usually he had used them in tune with some magical means as well. And as he couldn't change his eye colour right now, nor the shape of his face, Harry had some other tricks up his sleeve. So he made a rather ugly scar onto his face with the glue, that if applied without sparing, dried into a good effect, even pulling his skin a little and therefore contorting his expression. Harry had learned guite early that some disfigurments made people remember only them, not the actual features under it. Witnesses could tell about scars, black eye, limping, even tattoos and similar things, and didn't even think to memorize what someone would have looked without them.

Next problem were his glasses, Harry thought of using wandless magic, as it shouldn't register with the damn Trace that he still apparantly had, but then stopped. What if Dumbledore had monitoring spells for any magic around the house? He sighed frustrated, and slipped into his conciousness, feeling out with his magic. There were the blood-wards (And they were really impressivly strong even in their weakened state as there wasn't much love between Harry and his relatives, but still his eyes widened by the sheer power), but under them he could still feel some other wards – anti-portkey, anti-apparition, anti-Voldemort in particular (Harry wondered how Dumbledore had pulled this one off, surely he needed something of Voldemort's to make them, but then, the Dark Lord hadn't always been bald, would some hair suffice? Or would he have needed blood? That was intriguing), and then there were some rather obscure wards, Dumbledore's signature written all over them – probably some unusual monitoring spells on his precious Boy-Who-Lived. No, Harry didn't dare to do any magic here at all.

So he showed his round noticeable glasses back on, put his wizarding clothes into a backpack, checked that Mrs. Figg was sitting in her house – luckily Harry could see her siluette through the window, watching tv, then walked some streets away, donned his robe in a secluded spot, making sure that his face was hidden by the hood, and summoned the Knight Bus.

„Welcome to the Knight Bus, an emergency transport for," Stan started with his bored speech, but then stopped and asked instead, „hey kiddo what are you doing here?" raher condencendidly.

Ah why did he care? Harry considered putting on a nervous child-like demeneaur, but the fact was that he wasn't going to lift his hood, nor show his face. Right, option two, „To the Leacky Cauldron please," he sneered, throwing a small bit of his magic out, just as much as needes to intimidate Stan a little and luckily the youth didn't care too much to ask anything more personal than eleven sickles for the ride.

Once in the Alley, where Harry knew that all the magical protection made Trace work rather badly, he slipped into a bathroom in the Leacky and running his fingers over his glasses, transfigured them wandlessly to be more scuare than round and with darker glasses to hide his emerald green eyes. Then he cast a notice-me-not, that wasn't totally working without a wand, but still should manage to hide him from eyes that weren't specifically looking for him. Harry Potter wasn't in Diagon Alley, or in Knockturn. The short cloacked figure looked totally different, and as he locked his Light magic behind occlumency and thrust the darker aspects of his power out, he was practically oozing Dark magic – a fact that made most of the predatory figures in Knockturn keeping their distance from him. Firstly Harry made his way to his absolutely favorite shop in the Alleys – Ye Old Curiousity shop – that had always reminded him a huge pack of every-flavour beans, because in that shop you could come across totally everything. He brought a wand holster and several interesting potions books as well as a journal on Mind Magic that was giving away such a Dark aura that it got him instantly intrigued. He also found a notebook that showed different things written with different passwords, for example showed you your transfiguration notes for one password, and turned into blank notebook for another, so that you could jot down your charms notes. Harry had used similar ones in his auror training but now found it as a perfect way to set up one section with a parseltongue password to write down the things he had to remember about the future. He asked the shopkeeper to shrink everything for him, not wanting to make any display of wandless magic nor being able to use his wand. Damn, in some aspects it really sucked to be eleven again.

Harry also stopped in one of the Knockturn's apothecaries to get himself stocked in some potion ingredients that weren't too rare to cause suspicion, but were hardly on a first year's list. And as Harry was projecting such a dark aura, the shopkeepers in Knockturn just shrugged mentally and didn't question him. Probably thought he wasn't totally human, or had gotten hit with some magical accident to givr him a child's body. And being in Knockturn – well most shopkeepers just took money and didn't comment really anything. That was one of the things what he loved about that particular Alley.

Because in contrary to the twelve-year old Harry's belief, Knockturn was much more than just Borgin and Burkes, no, it was made up with different tiny side-alleys and hosted some good inns, bars, nightclubs and taverns. Also there were bookshops, apothecaries and even pet shop (true, all them sold a lot of questionable items), tattoo salon, clothes shop and barber shop. There of course were places to buy cursed items, illegal body parts of different beings to use in potions or rituals, a shop related to anything necromancy or undead, some bars that sold blood cockteils and held vampire's gambling dens as well as brothels. Not to mention all illegal business that was conducted in backrooms, but if you know where you were going then Knockturn was facinating.

In a second-hand bookshop Harry picked up some intresting spellbooks and an intriguing tome on warding. And in Cobbs and Webbs where they had the most genius charm on all the books, making every customer see only the merchadise that wouldn't harm their personal tolerance level. For example Molly Weasley could only see the cookbooks, schoolbooks and something on gardening, as Lord Voldemort would probably find even something on horcruxes. Or on some other things as vile. Harry grabbed some dogeared little books on dark spells and their counters, that he didn't yet know all, as well as a book named „Hidden in runes", that seemed to introduce hundreds of runes from different languages that all were somewhat or other connected to invisibility. It described in great detail the runes used in making invisibility cloaks, or made some things visible to some and invisible to others and a full guide how to make other runes invisible as well. It was the last that got Harry excited the most, as rune magic usually meant that runes needed to be carved or painted on the surface and the rune-magic was easily dispelled by ruining the runes. Now however, if he knew how to paint invisible runes, no-one would know what kind of magic or wards he had up.

The fact that he had found a treasure was futher cemented when the shopkeeper did a double-take when Harry presented him with the rune book. It probably wasn't seen by most customers and was quite rare. Or dangerous. Or very illegal. But when Harry thickened the dark aura around him, and arched an eyebrow, the rather old-looking shopkeeper cooled his features and took Harry's money without a comment.

Feeling very peased with himself, Harry had wandered around some more, and was just thinking of calling it a night, when he spotted one of those new shops – or should he say old, as he was technically in the past – that he didn't remember seeing there before. The particular thing gained his attention as it was projecting a lot of different magic. Harry had gotten quite good at sensing magic and wards around him, and usually every shop gave away the aura related to particular things sold in it, he had seen only Ye Olde Curiousity Shop project so messed up aura before, no doubt due to its dendencies to sell everything from porcelan dolls to human sculls, from occasional manuals on creating inferi to the usual Hogwarts student's books and from divination class balls to the seeds of devil's snare. Also signed photograps, fireworks, pencils, shabby boots with unknown magical properties, dream catchers and pixie dust.

This another shop with an aura as confused was suspiciously named „ _Parts,_ " and shrugging Harry stepped inside. Parts ideed – it looked rather like usual apothecary, all the walls covered in shelves that themselves were covered with all kinds of jars. Only closer inspection showed that inside jars weren't things like moonstone or belladonna, but rather different chunks of meat as well as different eyeballs, ears,toes, hands, hair and internal organs. Harry was sure that the long finger-like things belonged to grindelows, and the earlobe with gray skin and unmistakably vile smell, could only come from a troll. There were jars of different snake venom as well and they immediately captured Harry's interest.

„ _Stupid humans,_ " someone muttered, „ _with their ugly bulging eyes, staring._ "

Harry looked around, trying to find the voice, „ _Yes, now he is looking around, like an idiot he is, did the ickle human hear some hissing, are you afraid now? Thinking that I'm gonna attack you? Ah only if I could._ "

It was a snake. In a tankard near the jars of venom. She sounded female by her voice, and royally pissed off.

„ _Now what do you want? Eat me? Make me into your disgusting potion? Like your kind can't think of anything else to do with me. A salve for burns – that's what I'm to you. Only good for slying. But wait if I'll get out of this stupid prison._ "

Harry quickly made sure that no-one else was in the shop, and just for good measure, shot up a wandless silencing ward. It wasn't half as powerful or stabile as if he had used his wand, but it had to do.

„ _Then what?_ " he hissed back, „ _What you'll do, when you get out?_ " The snake was as shocked as she could get, that is, with the face of a snake it's pretty hard to convey many emotions. But she managed.

„ _A speaker?_ " she whispered quietly.

„ _Indeed. Why are you in this store?_ "

„ _Stupid human wants my venom. All others they killed and put the venom in there,_ " she indicated with her tail to the shelves above her, „ _and their scales in there,_ " another flick with a tail, „ _and their fangs in there,_ " another flick, „ _but I'm more magical and he wants my venom fresh. So I'm kept alive_."

Harry looked at the little slip of parchment proclaiming his conversational partner Bulgarian Ice snake, and raced his brain for potions that used her venom. Then he looked back at the snake. She was almost all white with pale yellow, blue and black spots making a pattern on her back.

„I'd like to buy this snake," he said, marching up to the counter.

„It ain't for sale, I just sell it's venom."

„Yes, for extremely good burning salves, I know, and for dragon fire burns," he sneered, „and I know as well that once extracted, the venom has to be used in two days time, do you think I have time to come back here each time?"

„Twenty galleons."

„Hardly. It's only a hatchling you have here, I'll pay eight."

„Eighteen."

„Ten."

„Fifteen, that's my final offer."

„Twelve."

„No, I'll say fifteen. That's that."

„Fourteen."

„Deal."

„Good," he said, gave the galleons and stamped back to the snake's tankard, „ _Are you going to bite me?_ " he hissed under his breath.

„ _No, master, of course not,_ " huffed the snake, like Harry had insulted her. He smiled, lifted the tank-top away, and reached inside. The shopkeeper gave a screech at that, but Harry only smirked and lifted his new friend out. „See, nothing to worry about?" he asked sweetly as the snake slithered up his clothes to rest on his shoulders. The shopkeeper just stared gobsmacked. „It's tried to attack everyone," he muttered to himself, but Harry only gave him a look with slightly rised eyebrows and exited the shop.

„ _You'll better hide under my robes,"_ he whispered, barely moving his lips, „ _I'm trying to not attract attention._ "

„ _Right you are Master,_ " the snake happily replied.

Harry rolled his eyes, „ _You can call me Harry,_ " he whispered, then paused and sighed, „ _What am I going to do with you?_ "

„ _For what purpose did you buy me then?_ "

„ _It was more like a spar of a moment thing_ ," he explained, „ _I didn't like how they treated you. But I guess I could just set you free._ " It had been his saving people thing again. Or in this case – saving snakes thing.

There was a pause, then a little voice asked, sounding apprehensive: „ _Can't I stay with you?_ "

„ _You want to?_ " Harry inquired back. Oh how did he always get himself in this kind of situations? Congrats to him for hiding that he could talk to snakes, if he had one with him at Hogwarts.

„ _Yessss, Master,"_ the snake hissed back.

„ _Okay then, what's your name?_ " he conceded, thinking of how to hide her while in Hogwarts. Oh and he had to make sure his snake and owl didn't eat each other. Brilliant.

„ _Desdemona. After some lady in a book_ ," she didn't sound too happy, „ _Wasn't even a magical book_."

„ _Nice to meet you Mona. I can call you Mona, right?_ "


	4. Chapter 4 The rest of the summer

**Chapter 4. The rest of the summer**

There were wards around the Privet Drive number 4 that were keyed specifically to Harry. He had taken the next day when Dursleys were practically still all ignoring him, to get as clear a picture of the wards as possible. And now he was fuming.

„ _Dumbledore knowss if I'm in the housse or not_."

„ _Thatss the headmasster you told me about_?" came Mona's mild voice.

„ _Manipulative bassstard._ "

„ _Can't you do ssomething with the wardss_?"

„ _I can't use my wand. And it would make him ssusspicious if hiss wardss failed for no reassson."_

„ _Can you do any magic at all?"_

„ _There are wardsss alerting him of any magic performed here asss well. Even accidental magic, I'm ssure he'll know!_ " Harry hissed angrily. Here was the proof, that Dumbledore had known about his home situation, damn, he probably knew Harry's current mood and what he had eaten for breakfast. The bastard had him monitored in any way possible.

„ _And now we have to sstay here. On top of everything_ ," he muttered. Harry hadn't had too many plans where to go for the rest of his summer, but one was certain – he hadn't been going to stay with the Dursleys. He could go to an hostel or something. But no, Dumbledore would know if he wasn't in the house, and after a few days surely would send someone to check. Damn it. And right now Harry didn't want to get a suspicious Dumbledore onto his back. Really, one immensely powerful Lord out for his blood was quite enough.

And he couldn't scare the hell out of his relatives, because Dumbledore would know that he used magic. Shit. Even wandless magic that the Ministry usually would write off as accidental. Shit.

So he listened to the yelling and degrading insults, and did his chores for two days, after what he was churning inside to curse them to oblivion, but outwardly gritted his teeth and waited when finally at least he was left alone.

„Boy!"

„Yes uncle?"

„Don't use that tone with me!"

„Sorry uncle. Was there something you wanted?"

His uncle was fuming and going purple in his face, „Yes there bloody hell was! We are going out!"

„Yes?"

„You are not to leave the house."

„Yes."

„Not to cause any trouble! Not to watch the tv…" and on it went, Harry just turned him out and said „Yes, uncle," when ever there was a pause in the monologue.

Then he looked how they drove off, waited for two minutes, and then darted up the stairs, grabbed his already sorted out potion ingredients, his standard cauldron and smirking smugly, went to the kitchen. The problem with most potions was that you needed to change the temperatures of the flames in precise moments and for precise period of time. And one needed their wand for that. But Harry had done his booksearch in Knockturn of all places and had found a rather easy recipe from one of his newly acquired potion's book that said just between hundred fifty and hundred eighty degrees. So he was quite confident brewing it on aunt Petunia's very muggle stove. Also imaging her reaction if she had known what he was doing, made him smirk in an very satisfyingly unpleasant sort of way.

So, when they came home after three hours and took their positions in the living room, Harry walked confidently in there.

„What do you want, boy?"

„I want to be left alone," he declared, „I want you to pretend this next month that I don't exist. You leave me alone."

„You, boy, will do what we tell you!" bellowed his uncle, but Harry only rised an eyebrow, „we took you in, you freak! And you'll be grateful!"

„Freak am I?" Harry asked mildly, picking on his fingernails, „I am, aren't I?" he looked up under his mop of a hair and smiled, „do you know what we freaks can do, uncle? Do you?", he paused, then went on almost whispering, „I could put you on fire, you know, with only some words. Or make you hate your wife and son, make you hurt them. Or make you unable to talk for the rest of your life. Even make you insane."

„You dare to threaten me, boy!" he bellowed, „out with you! Into your room, and don't expect any dinner!"

Harry only smiled mildly one more time, turned on his heel and left. He had taken advantage of the situation that they were gone, and helped himself to a nice supper already. And he really didn't want to stay and wait his uncle to lose his tempe complitely and decide on a more hurtful punishment for his impudence, than missing a dinner.

The next morning he woke up to screaming. And all three Dursleys were sporting blue skin. Rather like smurfs. And were yelling at Harry. Really, with all the smugness and enjoyment he was getting out of making fun of the Dursleys, maybe Harry should really reconsider his opinions on tortue. Well, hell, not really of course. But Dursleys… Well, they were just _Dursleys_.

„So, are you going to leave me alone for the rest of the summer?" he asked them, „No chores, no yelling, not noticing me at all? And of course I can get my meals every day?"

„You stop that freakishness this instant!" yelled Vernon, crabbing Harry from the scurf of his shirt and no doubt planning on bringing some bodily harm on him.

„Or what? If you hurt me, I won't take it off at all. If you throw me out, you don't have anyone who can take it off," he paused, „or you could go and ask help from some other wizards I guess."

„Now look here, boy!" vernon was almost incoherent of making out the words, and due to his intresting skin colour, the purple of his face looked more like violet. A really unbecoming style.

„Think what the neighbors would think," Harry put on mildly, „if you look like that. They would think that _you_ were the freaks," he finished in a whisper.

„You can finish this?" sneered his aunt now, finally putting in her own input.

„With the conditions." And so it was that the second summer before his first year, Harry had time to look through all his school books, including memorizing his potion's book from cover to cover and then back again in the hopes of not being hated by Snape quite so very much. Go out to buy himself some decent clothes – like pyjamas und underwear that wasn't five times too big for him (as Harry had changed some magical money into pounds during his second trip to Diagon), and make himself some good meals from Dursley's provisions. They still sneered at him, and threw hateful glances at his direction, but mostly avoided Harry and Harry was glad to avoid them back.

It wasn't too bad actually, considering the treatment he had been used to both in Hogwarts and in Privet Drive before, although he made as many notes about Dumbles's wards as possible, hell bent in finding a way to being able to fool them for the next summer. Because in mentality Harry really was twenty eight, not eleven, and not used to someone having any say over his movements. Right, that was an understatement of a century. He despised it.

Well, at least he had Mona to talk to. His owl, who Harry had named Brendon – meaning traveller, a very suitable one for an owl he thought – was still glaring at his lady-snake, but seemed alright if wasn't asked to go too near to her.


	5. Chapter 5 What had he got himself into?

**Chapter 5. In seven hells, what had he gotten himself into?**

„Packed with muggles!" Harry heard and whirled around. He had just been making his way through the mass of people towards one certain platform, when a familiar shrill voice had interrupted his thoughts. And sure enough, there were the Weasleys, Molly asking loudly: „What was the number of the platform again?"

And Harry's blood ran cold.

The woman had gone to Hogwarts for seven years. And had been sending her sons to the same platform how many years now? It simply wasn't possible that she didn't remember. Molly was technically endangering the Statue of Secrecy – the wife of a ministry worker! Well, not that any muggle would have deducted the existance of the wizarding world by something as stupid as a one strangely dressed woman shouting nonexistant number for a train platform, but still the law was a law. And that wasn't the point right now. Harry seethed over the fact that firstly Hagrid hadn't told him about how to get onto the platform (again!) and now Molly Weasley was telling everyone around of how to get onto it. So even his friedships were planned for him beforehand? For this point Harry really shouldn't be upset anymore, discovering how much Dumbledore knew and engineered, and manipulated him. So was Ron meant to be his first friend? Knowing Dumbledore, probably yes. From a Light family, from the Order, friendly, knowing what it was to be poor, so that they can understand each other. And of course Ron would tell the poor little muggle-raised Harry that all the evil wizards were in Slytherin, all the good ones in Gryffindor and that Dumbledore himself was something like a Merlin. The old, wise and good one. And if Harry was with a Weasley, it was sure to fend off any Death Eater's kids who could maybe want to sway Harry's loyalties. Yes, overall a very good manipulation of an naive eleven-year old.

Harry was hurt. He stayed away, looking how all the Weasleys went through the barrier, the twins laughing at something, and it really were twins, not only George like before – the sight of them took Harry's breath away. They just looked so young, carefree and war-free. Ron was also there, in his slightly small and tattered robes, looking so damn childlike and insecure. Not for a one moment did Harry actually think that Ron might be included on the conspiracy of being the one to influence Harry's introduction into the magical world, he was played by Dumbledore as they all were. Ron had been a real friend, well, in the past or future or whenever, but those days were gone now. In the end they sometimes found each other at the same dinners and exchanged stories for good old times' sake, and also met through Hermione, but nothing like the close trusting thing they had had while still kids.

Mrs. Weasley was the the last of the redheads still on the muggle side of the railway station, but after looking around quite a bit with a worried expression, finally also walked through the barrier. Yes, she had obviously been told to help Harry as Hagrid had _forgotten_ to inform him of how to get onto the train. Harry gritted his teeth, and walked through the stone wall couple of minutes later.

The Hogwarts express was like it had always been – red and steaming and surrounded with excited kids and their families. Harry smiled a little, feeling nostalgic, then pointed his wand to the heavy trunk he had been dragging all the way through the station, muttered: „Wingardium leviosa," and got rid of the problem about heaving it onto the train. Actually, using magic wasn't strictly permitted on the train, but newerthless fell into the same category as Hogwart's corridors – you weren't allowed to do magic as long as Filch, his cat or a teacher in a particularly bad mood happened to be watching. And right now it was so good to be able to use his wand again. It was practically purring in his hand as Harry floated his trunk into an empty compartment and sat down.

But this actually rised the question of how much magic Harry knew and how much he actually could know. On one hand he could act as some sort of a prodigy – after all, he was prophesied to be the Dark Lord's equal, and although Voldemort was batting insane, Tom Riddle really had been one of the most brilliant and powerful students in Hogwarts history. On the other hand however, Dumbledore might already have a suspicion about the damn horcrux in his scar, and if Harry came off as too smart, the old man could think that he was possessed or taken totally over by the soul shard. Oh, the wonders of being Harry Potter.

„Sorry, but, ee, is anyone sitting here?"

Harry looked up from his dark musings and found a very young, very round-faced, blushing, stuttering and shy Neville Longbottom. Harry had already forgotten what a mess Nev had been at the beginning, before being replaced by the scarred, but determined boy, who had came to the DOM with Harry and company, unsurped the Carrow's terror during a whole year and pulled the sword of Gryffindor out of the Sorting Hat, only to go on to join the special forces of aurors, negotiators and curse breakers, who were dealing with all the mess that Voldemort left in his wake, like for example the herd of gigants who were suddenly let loose around Hogwarts, and dementors floating over the land and so on. Then recieve a Mastery in Herbology at the tender age of twenty three, also all the way participating avidly in the Wizengamot as a Lord Longbottom. Not to mention the International Duelling Competitions he occasionally took part of.

So Harry smiled to the unbelievably shy version of his future friend and gestured to the seat across from him, „No, come in, I'm Harry by the way. Are you a first year too?"

„N..Neville," Nev stuttered, „N..Neville Longbottom," and stuck out his hand for Harry to shake, which Harry did. Honestly, now that he knew something at all about all the pureblood traditions, he could figure how insulting he had been to Draco back in their first year, plainly refusing to shake the other's hand, as in social standing, Draco had been something like an equal to Harry. It was the same as screaming: „I think I'm better than your. And more powerful. And probably arrogant, and I think you are no-good idiot, whose place is far below me. So much, that I don't even want to shake your hand." And although Draco had been right prat back then, he still was the heir to the Malfoy name and fortune. Even Ron had known the implications back then and supposedly found it unbelievably funny. Harry just had been ignorant. And rather pissed off, when he was finally found out about those things. Like seventeen years too late.

Well then, now he had a second chance to not insult peole unknowingly. He could now do it, knowing all the consequences. Harry smiled to the shy Neville and started a conversation about Hogwarts, asking Nev about what classes seemed the most intresting and told him some useful facts that he had supposedly read from „Hogwarts, a history", but in reality had heard his Hermione mention over the years. Like about the number of moving staircases and traditional five dessert choices in Sundays, to bring Neville a little out of his shy shell.

„Have you seen Harry Potter?" someone asked from the doorway just when they had started to discuss different Houses, making Harry and Neville both turn to look at the newly arrived gangly and red-headed Ronald Weasley. Harry was sure that he would have had some smart answer, but he was just busy gaping at this small Ron and somehow being so very sad. Because suddenly it hit Harry that this Ron here wouldn't never know anything about Harry, anything about their mutual past or the crazy adventures. And even if they grew up together again, this wasn't _his_ Ron. And Neville wasn't _his_ Nev. And Hermione not _his_ Mione. And they never would be. It was like his old friends and aquantances were all dead. Harry felt so damn down and miserable all of a sudden, and that was the only reason, why he didn't have a quick come-back, when Nev looked uncertainly back at him, probably made a connection with his first name since Harry hadn't told him his last, and asked with a shaking voice: „Harry?"

„You are Harry Potter?" bellowed Ron, always the one without any tact. And second time in a row Harry's replay was cut short by an eleven year old, when a sleek blonde head appeared opposite Ron's side of the door.

„Harry Potter, did you say?" he drawled with a sneer, and spat in Ron's direction: „Weasley!"

„Malfoy! You get out of here!"

„Or what Weasel? Gonna curse me?"

Ron glowered.

„Now did you lose your tongue, Weasel?"

„Shut up you prat!" Ron bellowed and pulled out his old wand, the unicorn hair slightly sticking out from the top.

Harry just couldn't believe it. In less than two seconds he was in the middle of a full blown Weasley-Malfoy argument all over again. He usually hadn't intervened in the future, as he himself had made his peace with Malfoy, and still got on with Ron at some level, but whereever Draco and Ron had been in the vicinity of each other, the insults had started to flow – even some ten years after school. Still, it hadn't usually gotten into drawing wands and cursing the other for some time. But after all, they had supposedly been grown up then.

And Harry was used to just turning a blind eye. Now however he wasn't to know it yet, and in a bored voice asked, just when both boys had opened their mouths to yell something: „Is there actually a legitimate reason for the fight?"

„Yes!" they chorused, then turned to glare at each other.

„He's a Malfoy! His family was the supporter of You-know-who!"

„You dare! Muggle-lovers and blood-traitors, the lot of you, Weasels!"

„Don't you insult my family!"

„Oh Merlin," Harry muttered. He was pretty sure that neither of the eleven-year old prats were hiding any useful or really harmful duelling skills, but the whole situation was just ridiculus. He whispered a mild _protego_ around himself an stepped between the two going-to-be-arch-enemies. Firstly turning his back to Malfoy and glaring at Ron. „Weasley," he said calmly, „look around, a lot of people are watching already. Do you really want to get into trouble for fighting before we even reach the school? How about moving this to, lets say, to the next week?" Ron only glared at Harry, now seemimgly mad at _him_. Oh Merlin. So Harry just spun on his heel and turned around. „And Malfoy, I thought you wanted to be in Slytherin. As in the house of sly and cunning. Not duelling in corridors like some rash Gryffindor?"

„Don't call me that!"

„Think, Malfoy!" Harry glowered, his patience with eleven-year olds wavering. Where the hell were the perfects when you needed one? „Is this a Slytherin behaviour?"

He was trying to be reasonable here, and apply to the points the two of them would actually listen to, but apparantly no such luck. Ron really had been thick-headed back then it seemed.

„And what do you know?" he now rounded on Harry, „Siding with a Malfoy!" his voice sounding so mean and disgusted with Harry, that it made him recoil. This wasn't _his_ Ron at all.

„No," Harry's voice was calm and quiet in contrst to the other's, „I'm trying to break up this pointless argument."

„You…" but he was cut off, as _finally_ someone had heard of the fight.

„Ron! What are you doing, not fighting in the corridors, are you?" came the pompous voice of Percy Weasley.

„But Malfoy!" Ron started to accuse, glaring daggers at Draco. But the blond at least had some sense it seemed. Draco had managed inconspicuously hide his wand and adopt his bored pureblood mask. So now it looked like Ron was pointing his wand angrily at the other's direction as Malfoy only stood there.

„You haven't even gotten to the castle yet…" Percy was lecturing on and on, but with well practised easy Harry turned him out, and slipped back into his compartment when the whole attention turned away from him and onto Ron. Really he felt a little bad for Ron getting all the blame as Malfoy just smirked there, but he also was unused to such a hostility from Ron to his own person, and felt a little hurt. And seriously, he had been in the middle of way too many Weasley-Malfoy arguments to last him several lifetimes.

So Harry flopped himself back onto his previous seat rather grumpily, now thinking of how awfully his first meeting with Ron had gone. Really he had had a plan to become friends again, or at least get on reasonably well considering the good chance that they again ended up in the same dorm for seven years. And now he could see how he could have won over Ron's favour instantly, had he stepped into the idiotic argument and taken Ron's side. But in the future Harry usually just ignored the arguments, or if in a very bad mood, went off to the both of them. So it would have been just so _wrong_ to favour one of the idiots over the other. And it wasn't like he particularly agreed with Ron's view of the world.

Harry looked up from his musings, finding Neville with a very uncertain and strained face, staring at him. When he caught Harry's glance however, he promptly turned scarlet and looked out of the window. Harry sighed mentally. „What is it, Neville?" he asked gently.

There was a pause when Neville turned to look back at Harry, blushed again and then muttered quickly: „You are really Harry Potter?"

„Yes, I'am," he answered rather resignedly, „but I'd prefer only Harry."

He paused a moment, thinking how to get rid of the incredulous stare Neville was now giving him, „Honestly, I'm famous for something that happened when I was a baby, something I hardly remember. You know, I grew up with muggles," Neville's eyes went even wider now, „and they didn't even tell me about how my parents died. I didn't know anything about Voldemort," here Neville jumped and let out an audile whimper. Merlin, Harry thought, he had forgotten not to mention the name. Well, he could just use it to make a point now, „You see," he exclaimed, „I don't even now that I'm not supposed to say his name. So literally about a month ago Hagrid didn't only tell me that I'm a wizard, but also the part of how famous I were. So, I'm not used to all the staring and looking at me, like I'm some kind of celebrity."

Neville was still staring.

„You could just think of me as Harry," he added, „nothing special or anything."

„You aren't joking?" Neville finally whispered, and Harry gave him a lopsided smile. „No," he sighed, „I'm afraid not. But," he added, „I've been reading a lot about everything magical during the last month." Well, he didn't want to play too dumb. Keeping the additional eighteen or so years of knowledge hidden was quite enough, without adding anything. He could just act a Hermione, he supposed, mildly amused.

After the big revealution Neville seemed even more akward, but Harry pretended not to notice and pulled the other into a game of exploding snap. They had just started, when someone choose to interrupt again. Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway, lacking his bodyguards and looking the pretentious git he used to be.

„Can I help you with something?" Harry drawled.

„You are Harry Potter." That was more a statement than a question.

„And?" Harry asked, arching an eyebrow.

„Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded in a half-accusatory, half-disappointed voice that threw Harry totally off guard. Malfoy losing his cool like that wasn't a thing a lot of people could say they had witnessed. But then he reminded himself that this Malfoy here was only eleven, so maybe him flustering and showing emotions wasn't so very unusual.

„I beg your pardon?" He asked at last, when the question itself made it into his brain.

„In Madame Malkins, it was you, wasn't it?" Ah, now that explained it. Harry smirked, „Yup, it was," he confirmed and then inquired, „you were planning to bring a broom as I recall. Any luck?"

„None of your business," was the expected answer he got as Malfoy had obviously gotten his bearings back and wasn't divulging any secrets. As if any Slytherin would.

„Anyways, why didn't you tell me?" he demanded.

„Because you didn't tell me yours either," Harry said, still smirking. Malfoy blinked once, then furrowed his brows like thinking back deeply. Then he seemed to come to a conclusion, extended a hand like in the original time-line and introduced himself properly: „Well, I'm Draco Malfoy," a very serious and rather out of place expression on his face as they really both did know the names already.

„Harry Potter," said Harry simply, smirking only a little and taking the hand. The time would tell what would come of it. Maybe, just maybe there won't even be any of their famous rivarly in the coming years. Gods, how much the timeline had already shifted. Only in a first hour or so on the train he had managed to get onto Ron's bad side and apparently get into Malfoy's good graces.

And to make it even more unbelievable, Malfoy sneered in Neville's direction: „Longbottom," as a greeting and stayed into their compartment to play some exploding snap. Suffice to say that Harry was rather amazed at the turn of events. But then a thought of what Luna would say, if he told her about it emerged, and Harry's mood shifted to bittersweet. Well, his Luna was gone and as thoughts of her still rised unbidden to make him depressed occasionally, but in this reality there was actually an alive Luna somewhere. And it was both amazingly unbelievable, as much as it was tremendously sad. She wouldn't know Harry or anything about their past-future at all.

Note to myself, Harry thought, not a good idea to get too distracted during the damn game, as a rather tall tower of cards exploded stright into his face.

The rest of the train ride was rather uneventful. Malfoy stayed to play couple of rounds, and to Harry's futher amasement wasn't even insulting neither himself or Neville. True, he sneered at the other boy, and made some unimpressed remarks, but all in all was rather civil. Or at least when compared to the boy Harry remembered from his original first year. After a while he left to find his groonies, leaving Harry and Neville to buy some sweets from the trolley lady and just to humour Nev, Harry asked all sorts of questions about various candies. Just like the last time, he's first ever Chocolate Frog card turned out to be Dumbledore. Harry sneered at it.

He gave the thing to Neville who was collecting the cards like almost every other wizarding child. Nev apparantly had a couple of the old man already, but took it anyway. Harry really didn't want the picture of Headmaster and his twinkling eyes that seemed to know everything and never giving out any useful information. He really was rather unimpressed with the man by now. And also paranoid enough to get uncomfortable with the picture of Dumbles near him. Harry had made a rather throughout study of the cards to be sure that the person on the picture couldn't spy after him, but still, he couldn't be one hundred percent certain.

The rest of the train ride went on without any more accidents than Trevor making some escape attempts and being promptly caught again by Harry. When they finally were nearing the Hogsmeade station, Neville was snoring quietly, and Harry reading his potion's book once again. He really needed to do a little magic on his more interesting books, so that he could read them in public without being promptly carted off to Dumbledore's office to face some serious accusations.

„… All your things will be brought to the castle separately," was heard throughout the train. Harry closed his book, they were nearing Hogsmeade.

„huh?" asked Neville, blinking blearily.

„Morning," Harry smiled, „we are almost there."

Neville stopped spluttering in an instant and promptly got up to peek out of the window.

Soon enough they were moving in the throng of people who all wanted to get off the train and then some who wanted back onto the thing, having forgotten something they absolutely needed during the welcoming feast, or called for their friends, or for their lost pets.

„You have Trevor alright?" Harry asked, watching as a blond girl in Huffelpuff robes was chasing after a tabby cat. For a moment it looked like McGonagall, and Harry did a double-take as the animal stopped and started to lick itself in a very inappropriate spot for a teacher in public, but luckily for Harry's sanity it didn't have the telltale glasses marks around it's eyes.

„Right here!" chipped Nev, who was holding the squirming Trevor with two hands.

„First years! First years!" came Hagrid's booming voice over the general chicken-headedness and soon enough Harry found himself in a boat with Nev and a very young and very bushy-haired Hermione. „Did you know that the boat ride to the castle has been in tradition from the early fourteenth century? Its said that this way we'll get the most breathtaking view of the whole castle. And I read that there are going to be ghosts in the castle that are actually this old, it would be just brilliant to talk to them, think of the educational value! Oh, I'm so excited to be here, I mean that finally I get to really learn about magic. Nobody in my family's magical at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I'm ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard. I've learned all our course books by heart, of course,I just hope it will be enough, I couldn't practice the actual spells, so I hope the theory is good enough to start. I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?

She said all this very fast and practically bounching with excitement.

„I'm Harry," he answered, warmed at this Hermione's, well _Hermione-ness._ Neville however looked horrified about the prospect of knowing all the books by heart. „N..Neville Longbottom," he stuttered out.

„Nice to meet you both. By the way, do you already know in which house you'll be in? Gryffindor sounds far the best in my mind, even Dumbledore himself was there I have heard, although Ravenclaw sounds good as well. So what about you?"

„One of them too, I think," Harry answered. Part of him was hoping to get back into Gryffindor, more because it would be just so utterly weird and _wrong_ to not be there, but part of him was well aware of both his Slytherin side and his profoundly increased love of new knowledge. So, if the Hat refused to put him back into Gryffindor, he had a mind to ask for Ravenclaw. The house of Ravens was a bit like a neutral territory between Gryffs and Snakes. They were tolerated and even occasionally respected by both sides and it wasn't an insult neither to dark or light families to have their children placed there. Harry didn't think that he would fit in with the shy Puffs, nor would it be good to be placed in Slytherin. Definitely not. The whole wizarding world would think him „gone dark", Dumbledore would be ten times as suspicious as was good for Harry's health, all his former friends would keep their distance, and he would be surrounded by all the people who mostly were against his side in the last war. A lot of the present snakes were future Death Eaters, dark symphatizers or in some better cases only influential figures in the Ministry who Harry neverthless had had some bone to pick. So to Gryffindor, or Ravenclaw he would go. And as the Hat was bound to be intrigued about his time-traveler status, harry thought that it wouldn't shout out any house name before he had a chance to argue back. Luckily he also knew for certain, that the Hat couldn't divulge any information it gathered from student's heads, so his secret was safe as well.

„My gran wants me in Gryffindor," muttered Neville, looking terribly forlorn.

„Don't worry, you'll.." Harry started to console, but was interrupted by a loud: „Trevor!" as the toad had apparantly taken the first opportunity when Neville got distracted to make an another escape attempt.

Neville lunged after his familiar, the boat rocked dangerously and Hermione let out an suprised yelp because a wave of water had washed over her. It all happened so quickly that Harry didn't have time to do anything else than grab instinctivly at the boat to find at least some resemblance of balance. And then grab the back of Nev's robes to save the boy from ending up headfirst in the lake.

Nothing really happened. They got their vessel back to order. Neville crashed hard into the boat's bottom, turnin beet-red, clutching Trevor and getting his robes wet from the lake water that had gotten in. Hermione glared at all the other laughing students and pretended that nothing had happened. And Harry helped embarassed Neville back into sitting position and muttered: „Just ignore them all. And if it makes you feel any better, then think that you saved your dear Trevor from the terrible Black Lake, exposing yourself to the dangers of the same lake, nearly avoiding drowning. But still emerged victorious. Well, it's a good start on getting into Gryffindor," he grinned, „don't worry too much."

This at least got a small smile out of Neville, and all the attention was pulled from them, when from the first boats were heard the multiple: „whoa"s or „oooh"s or a eerily familiar shout of „bloody hell!" when the Hogwarts castle came into their view in all its glory.

It looked beautiful, mysterious and magical in all sense. The numerous little towers and torrents with brightly illuminated windows making it look like something out of a fairytale, and to Harry's sensitivity in background magic, it lit up like a christmas tree – magic was literally pulsing around and inside the old castle. And adding the fact that Harry had thought of it as his first ever home, Hogwarts was ideed something extremely special and wonderful. Looking up at it as the little boats got nearer and nearer, Harry shared all the other first year's awe and wonderment, but also had seven years full of memories to add. Both the best and the worst, but in both cases, they were deep and important beyond words. He stared at Hogwarts, smiling tenderly, lost in memories.

Soon however the castle was being blocked from sight, and in front of Harry's upturned face was a sleek stone ceiling with occasional drop of water and some dark and musty greenery stretching their stems overhead as the little boats had entered the cavernous room under the castle. They moored, got out and followed Hagrid to the double doors there. „Everyone here? You there, still have yer toad? Good!" boomed the giant man happily, and knocked three times.

Like last time, they were greeted by tight lipped McGonagall – a lot younger version than Harry remembered, but still with her customary painful-looking hairstyle and stern manner. She led them into an antechamber and went off to check something, giving way to frantic whispers of the upcoming sorting ceremony. Ron was once again talking about having to wrestle a troll and making a lot of muggleborns turn pasty-white.

Then the ghosts came and already tense athmosphere was filled with yelps of suprise and mild horror. "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance-" the Fat Friar was saying. „My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost – I say, what are you all doing here?" asked Nick, suddnly noticing the first years.

Nobody answered.

"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?" A few people nodded mutely. "Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" exclaimed the Friar. "My old house, you know."

„Move along now," a sharp voice cut in, McGonagall had come back, "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start," her eyes roamed over the first years critically and Harry saw The Head of Gryffindor glancing at his own direction with an odd sort of tiny smile. Something that he wouldn't have ever noticed if hadn't had known her for many long years. She probably expected him in Gryffindor. Harry smiled internally, it was good to be welcomed and wanted, and also good to see his old Head of House again.

„There are four houses: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Huffelpuff and Slytherin," she went on, and Harry noticed the little upturn of lips when saying her own house's name, and a distaste in her voice when mentioning Slytherin. Really, the woman could be as prejudiced about houses a Snape sometimes, he thought and turned out the speech about their Houses being their families in the castle, about support and pride and the good of gaining points for the Cup. Then finally they were shown into the Great Hall.

„The ceiling is charmed to look like the sky outside. I read it from Hogwarts, A History," whispered Hermione frantically, and then went back to muttering all the spells she knew, to be ready for what ever the Sorting Ceremony would contain, „ _lumos_ , of course sounds easy, then there is _alohamora_ if I need to open something, _aquamenti_ , but they wouldn't put something on fire, would they? Just is case. _Wingardium leviosa_ to levitate things, but the book said it is unstable on first tries, and I couldn't use my wand to practise beforehand. _Bombarda_ can make things explode, but its fourth year level, I only know this one because I read the famous duel between Garrik the Greedy and Wanston Wilifred, in 1930, or was it 1932…" and on it went, but Harry was listening only with half a ear and wondering with not more than a sliver of a brain about the girl. Mione had learned about the existance of the wizarding world only a month ago, and already she could name the fourth year spells? It really was quite impressive. But with most of his mental capacities Harry was shutting Hermione out, his gaze having riverted to the staff table the moment they entered the Great Hall. Dumbledore alive, Snape alive, Quirrelmort sitting between the Potions professor and Flitwick, fidgeting nervously. And all three had found Harry already, surrepticiously glancing at his way. Well, the word surrepticiously could be used for Dumbledore, as Harry would have never seen the man pay him slightest attention if he hadn't expected it, but Quirell was openly glancing quite a lot of times, totally failing to hid his interest. Snape just glared with sneer on his face and hatred in his black eyes. Harry had somewhat started to both idolise and pity the sour potions master after some years, it couldn't have been easy by any standard to serve two masters and lie his head off to the most skillful legilismens there was. And then there was the whole save Harry thing, that he had never gotten any thanks or acknowedgement for return, far from it, he had been labeled a Death Eater of worst caliber and Dumbledore's cold-hearted murderer. The year as an headmaster must have been the cherry on the cake with the whole staff hating him passionately, and people who once trusted him, thinking the most horrible things about his deeds. How the man had even survived it Harry didn't know.

But now, looking at the disgusted expression sent to his way, Harry also remembered how awful all his potion lessons had been because of one Severus Snape. And how so very childish it was to blame Harry for his father's deeds. He siged mentally and zoned his attention back to the Sorting Hat's song, and after a tremendus applause, to the Sorting itself. He could think of all the teacher's personality problems later.

„When I call your name, you'll come forward and put on the Hat," announced McGonagall in her strict voice, and proceeded to do just that, „Abbott, Hannah!"

And on it went. Harry was rather relieved when a child after child was put into their original houses, at least the timeline hadn't changed that much. Hermione was sitting under the Hat a full minute, arguing to get into Gryffindor, and Neville still took by far the longest, before he also was scurrying off to Gryffindor table, visibly exremely relieved to get into the House for brave, but still once again running off with the Hat still on.

And then finally there was: „Potter, Harry!" and the Hall that had been full of whispered conversations about the Sorting taking too long for their hungry stomach's sake, or whatever else, were cut short like a silencing spell had been cast to the whole lot of them.

And after a second or two, a new kind of whispering started up: „Did she say Potter?"

„ _The_ Harry Potter?"

„He's so small."

„Can you see his scar?"

„Harry Potter? Really?"

Harry ignored it with well practiced ease, sat down onto the stool and then the Sorting Hat was once again lowered onto his head, obscuring Harry's view of the whole student body craning their necks to get a better look at him.

„ _Ah,"_ whispered the little voice in his head, _„I see,"_ it went on slowly, _„hmm, yes, I know exactly what to do with you, better be…"_

„Wait!" Harry interrupted in his mind with terrible foreboding, but to no avail, the Hat only gave a short chuckle, then yelled out, „…SLYTHERIN!"


End file.
